


The Sleeping Death

by JessicaSteiner



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Het and Slash, Immortality, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Slavery, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaSteiner/pseuds/JessicaSteiner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where all natural forces - such as heat, light, and motion - are controlled by invisible winged creatures known as vox, mages have successfully conquered death, making all humans immortal.</p><p>By chance, a journalist named Liiran discovers a winged woman sleeping in a glass coffin, buried in a long-abandoned facility in the desert. The woman, Mortis, is the vox of death. </p><p>She escapes her prison, but with no memory of what she is, Mortis goes to the only person she remembers - Liiran. </p><p>Declared a criminal and traitor merely by his knowledge of Mortis' existence, Liiran learns that his government is controlled by mages and a corrupt vox bent on taking over the world. He and Mortis are forced to flee, and are drawn into  the chaos of war, meeting an enslaved vox, an independent journalist, and a pair of beautiful assassins as they fight to rescue Mortis' friends and avoid imprisonment. </p><p>Meanwhile, Liiran struggles with his confusing love for the living personification of death - and the fundamental questions of what it really means to live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please visit [my blog](jessicasteiner.dreamwidth.org) for details on a cover art contest for this work, running from May 1, 2012 to August 1, 2012! The full novel will be coming out in ebook format sometime this year. I hope you enjoy these free sample chapters.

_Laxamora, 316 A.B. (After Breakthrough)_

Mortis heard the banging, felt the swaying, even in her dreams. It angered her, and she hammered futilely against the interior of her prison. The impacts of her own fists echoed in her ears, assaulted her senses, and did nothing. _Nothing._

Sleep tried to drag her down again and she prepared to surrender. Nothing she did mattered, and she would never escape. It was better to live in dreams.

But then she heard shouting, a _"Be careful with that!"_ and there was a jolt that ran through the prison. 

Then she sensed it: the tiniest of hairline fractures in the glass. It was too small to see, but for her, it was enough.

She burst from her imprisonment and rose into the air in a shower of glass, wings unfurling. There were humans all around her, men and women who wanted to put her back in the prison. She wouldn't let them. She wouldn't go back to that endless hell.

She spread her hands and the humans were falling, dying, their little lives snuffed out effortlessly. She felt nothing except the relief that they could not hurt her again.

Her feet touched the ground once more, when the last human lay dead on the floor. They lay all around her, like broken matchsticks and of just as little consequence. Glass sliced into her feet. Pain, strange and foreign and unpleasant, jolted through her body like little bolts of lightning. 

She wanted to escape. Needed to hide, but she didn't know where to go. Where could she hide?

She stepped over one of the bodies.

The certainty she had felt was fading, subsumed by fear and memories of the endless sleep. She pressed her hands to her eyes, shuddering. Where could she go? Who was she running from? That didn't matter. What mattered was that she was running, and she was all alone in the world.

She straightened. She wasn't all alone. There was one person. He might be an enemy, but he was the only person in all the world whose face she could picture in her mind. Everything before that quickly became smothered in fog. If he was an enemy she would do...do something.

She would not go back to prison.

Death could find anyone. She stumbled out into the street, gavoxae tugging at her hair with their little hands, and savoxae wrapping their chill arms around her, toying with her skin. 

She turned towards the place where she knew he could be found, and took flight.


	2. Chapter 2

Liiran stepped into the elevator, leaned back against the wall and yawned, tugging his tie down a little further to let his neck breathe. He tried not to think about the fact that he had to be up early to go to work tomorrow morning. He had to be on the ball, get the information he'd uncovered in the desert written up and handed in fast so he could be ready when the next big story came in.

When no one ever died, there wasn't a lot of upward mobility. You relied on connections and luck to keep your place, as well as being better at your job than anyone else. It was something Liiran was good at, but there was always the potential to screw up, and screw up bad. If he lost focus, it could cost him his job. 

Sometimes it meant going on crappy assignments, like writing feel-good stories about backwards, primitive tribes in the Sincovati Desert that no one really cared about. You smiled and did it, and sometimes you struck gold - as he had, this time.

Despite the exhaustion, the jetlag, and everything else, Liiran hadn't been able to resist treating himself at his favourite bar. The only thing that could have made it better would have been getting laid, but other than a quickie in the bathroom, that hadn't been in the cards tonight.

Too bad. But you won some and lost some. Maybe he'd used up all his luck surviving what happened back there and getting the story of the year at the same time.

Sal was going to do backflips.

Once inside his apartment, he got a beer, turned on the television and dropped onto the couch. Then he lit up a cigarette. He flipped restlessly through the channels, sipping on the bottle, tapping ash into the tray on the coffee table, and feeling the last of the tension drain out of his body.

There was a quiet thud, from the door to his balcony.

Liiran's head jerked up with surprise. _Shit, a bird,_ he thought, dropping the remote and setting down his bottle. He made a face as he crossed the room.

A corpse was really the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, or ever. Animals and plants could die, of course. Animal activists could never understand why the AND couldn't keep fuzzy pets and endangered species from succumbing to death. Liiran had just stopped keeping pets after the third cat died on him - it was just too annoying getting attached and then watching them die after only a couple of decades - if you were lucky.

None of this actually passed through his mind as he walked to the window and reached for the drapes. What passed through his mind was _'Holy shit!'_ because just as he reached for the pull-tab, there was another bang, harder than the first.

 _No way another bird's that stupid!_ But what in Mortisor could it be? He was on the fifteenth floor. Not exactly prime cat burglar territory - and besides, cat burglars rarely knocked. So far as he knew.

He opened the drapes, looking into the darkness outside.

There was a shape. There was _definitely_ a very _large_ shape on his balcony. But he couldn't make out what it was. It almost looked like a bird perching on the railing, but no bird was that huge.

He stared at it for a moment, then realized that whatever it was, it had to be able to see _him_ inside the well-lit apartment, far more clearly than he could see it.

He glanced around for some kind of weapon, but there was nothing appropriate within reach. He had a pair of ski poles in the bedroom closet, but they weren't really good at bashing things, and the tips weren't actually all that sharp.

As he followed that line of thought to its conclusion, he started to feel silly. What danger could he really be in? It was probably some homeless guy who'd moved in while he was away and objected to the sound of his television.

Boldly, he unlocked the door and stepped outside onto the balcony. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" 

The creature's wings flared, but no bird outside of fantasy books had a wingspan that wide. It flapped its wings and buffeted him with wind, and he stumbled back inside the apartment, more out of shock than from the force of it. And then it stepped down from the railing.

No, it hopped down. It had been _sitting_ on the railing, not perching.

And it wasn't a bird. It was a woman.

A woman with wings.

And Liiran recognized her.

"It's you," he said, staring stupefied at the woman he had last seen in a glass coffin in the desert. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped into the apartment, looking around with an expression of what looked like a mixture of wonder, fear, and confusion. Her skin was so pale it was almost blue, and her hair tumbled in waves down her back. 

She was completely naked.

Her irises were so dark in colour, Liiran couldn't tell where they left off and her pupils began.

But it was her wings that his eyes kept being drawn to. He ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said. "You can't just barge in here without saying anything. What do you want?"

She looked at him, and he felt like he might drown in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to be rude. I was looking for you, but there were so many people at the other place, I waited until you were alone."

She might as well have been speaking gibberish for all the sense she made.

"No really, who are you? What are you doing here?" Bluster seemed to help keep the terror at bay. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I don't know." Her eyes dropped towards the floor, which at least made it easier for him to breathe, released from their spell. "I'm sorry. It was dark and I was trapped, and then I got out and I knew that I needed a safe place."

"So you came to me? You don't even know me." _And what_ are _you?_ Liiran's mind supplied.

She shrugged. "I thought you might help me."

Liiran sighed. This was just going in circles. He needed to figure things out, and then send her on her way. He folded his arms, and took a breath, inhaling a lungful of calming nicotine. It helped. 

Keep it simple, stupid. "What's your name?" Later, he could revisit the more complicated stuff.

She was silent for a moment, her brow furrowing. "Mortis."

"Okay, that's a start. Now _what_ are you, Mortis?" His fingers itched for a notepad, but he didn't want to lose momentum by going to look for one.  
"I don't know how to answer that question," she said softly. 

"He paused for a moment, then hazarded, "I don't suppose you could be some kind of vox?" It was the only explanation, really. Liiran didn't know much about magic except what little he remembered from high school, but the larger voxae Liiran had seen had had wings, and were sort of human-shaped. But they were tiny. The biggest he'd ever heard of was no more than the length of his pinkie finger. Still, it really _was_ the only explanation.

"I guess I must be," Mortis said, without any reassuring level of certainty. "I mean, I'm not like you." She spread her wings slightly, as if he needed a reminder that they were there, and then folded them securely against her back.

"Right." Liiran rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Well, I'm Liiran Uwis. And I've got to say, Mortis, whatever's going on, coming to me was the wrong thing to do. I have to take you back to where you came from. They'll figure out what to do with you."

He was pretty sure the experts had taken her coffin to the Museum of Magical History. That was what he had been told, anyway. So that was a place to start.

Mortis shrugged, but said nothing, and he turned and marched to his phone. He dug in his pocket for the business card he'd been given, dialled and it rang. And rang again. After a few rings the line clicked and the curator's voicemail message ran.

"Professor," Liiran said, keeping his voice neutral. "It's Liiran Uwis, the journalist. I imagine you're pretty busy, but I've got something it seems you've lost. Call me as soon as you get this message."

He hung up and glanced at his guest. She looked small and fragile, standing in his living room with her wings dragging on the floor.

He sighed. "You can stay until someone contacts me," he said. "That probably won't happen until tomorrow."

Relief was obvious in her face. "I thank you, Liiran," she said. "I really didn't mean to be a bother. I just...remembered your face, and I thought you seemed kind. I was afraid, and I didn't know where else to go."

"I'm a reporter, Mortis," Liiran said wryly. "I'm not kind." He shook his head. "Do you need anything to eat? Or are you hurt at all?" She had left a trail of smudges across his carpet that looked like dried blood.

She frowned and shook her head. "No, I don't think so. My feet were hurting when I left, but they don't anymore."

He grunted. "Take a seat. Let me...get you something to wear. Are you sure you don't want some food? Or a beer or something?" Did voxae eat? If so, then he was starving the voxae in his lights, and heating unit, and air conditioner, not to mention his watch and a hundred other things. Thinking about it again, he didn't think voxae needed to eat.

She sat down on the couch and he escaped into the bathroom.

He dropped his half-smoked cigarette into the toilet, then leaned on the counter.

For a moment he just leaned over the sink, staring at his own reflection and trying to tell his stomach that it didn't want to eject the half-bottle of beer he had just drunk, along with the other three he'd drunk earlier. There was a vox in his living room. A naked, beautiful, vox, with the most terrifying eyes he'd ever seen, and she apparently had amnesia.

This was _crazy_.

This story had just gotten a million times better.

He ran a hand over his face, then grinned at himself in the mirror. There was really only one course of action. He had already interviewed her. Tomorrow he would return her to the museum, but not without taking a couple of pictures first. They weren't going to be nude photos, though, so he had to do something about that.

He pulled a bathrobe off of a hook on the door, then strode back out to the living room.

She was examining the bottom of her foot. He could see it was dirty, and there was blood, but as he watched she rubbed at the skin of her foot and the blood flaked away. There was nothing but smooth skin underneath. She had no calluses he could see.

"Do you think you could put this on?" he asked, eyeing her wings uncertainly. 

Their fingers touched as she rose and took the bathrobe from him. Her skin was warm. Why would a vox seem so human? It was amazing. His heart sped up a little again every time he looked at her, and it wasn't just because she was easily the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen.

"Yes... yes I think so." She frowned with thought for a moment, and suddenly her wings were gone.

If he'd still had that cigarette in his mouth, he'd probably have swallowed it. "What did you do?"

She worked her shoulders, craning her neck around as if to check that they really weren't there. "I'm not really sure. I just felt as if I could change if I wanted to. The wings are natural for me, but this is all right, too." 

Abruptly, a disturbing thought occurred to him. "I wonder what kind of vox you are," he said. "Do you have the urge to... _do_ anything?"

"Like what?"

She was still naked, and it was almost one in the morning. This wasn't really the ideal situation for an in-depth discussion about magic, but now they were on the topic and he wanted to know. Curiosity had always been Liiran's downfall.

"How should I know?" he asked, spreading his hands helplessly. "I don't know what it's like to be a vox. Don't you have any urges? To... move things, or make things cold, or," He looked at her cautiously. "Set things on fire?"

She shook her head, but there was something wary in her eyes. "No, nothing like that."

He sagged. Well, once he got her back to the experts, maybe he'd be able to shed some light on the situation. There was no way Liiran was abandoning this story, now. 

"Well, put that bathrobe on. I'm going to head to bed," he said. It was all far too confusing, and he was really too tired to deal with it right now. "If you do decide you want something to eat, you can take anything you find in the kitchen. Watch TV if you want. You'll have to sleep on the couch, but I'll bring you a blanket and it should be pretty comfortable."

She nodded. "Thank you, Liiran," she said softly, then wound the bathrobe around herself and belted it. Immediately it felt a little less stuffy in his apartment, though he regretted it, a little.

A few minutes later, she was stretched out on the couch, the blanket arranged over her, and she looked as comfortable as one could be. Though she was lying down, her eyes watched the television with a palpable fascination, as if she had never seen one before. He watched her for a moment, conflicted, then turned and headed to bed.

Though at first he wasn't sure he'd ever sleep again while she was in his apartment, Liiran fell asleep to the unceasing hum and chatter of the television.

Tomorrow was going to be a bigger day than he'd originally thought.


	3. Chapter 3

The booms of the explosions and the clash of swords had been steady for an hour now. They were loud, even in Grand General Hason's tent, which was some distance from the thick of the fighting, but close enough that the battle messengers could get quickly back and forth, bringing detailed news of how things were progressing. Even in this modern age of voxihanto magic and instant communication, one sometimes were wise to rely on mundane means to ensure messages weren't intercepted by the enemy.

Each time an explosion went off, the walls shook, but the atmosphere inside the tent was celebratory. Hason moved to the mouth of the tent, the boy on his chain following obediently behind him. 

Beyond the open doorway, the desolate Monson mountains rose up sharply, craggy and forbidding. Every shadow contained a pool of ice and snow, and the upper reaches of the mountains were white and blue, glittering like diamonds in the sunlight.

Beyond the immediate crags were the valleys where the last enemies of the Laxam Empire scrabbled for a pathetic, primitive life in the desolate passes and caves. Hason couldn't imagine how they managed without going mad, let alone why they continued to put up a fight. They should welcome a chance to live and work in comfort, to pursue a proper life, rather than eking out an existence in this horrible place.

When the Laxam Empire finally conquered those rocks, it would usher in an age of peace that would last forever. And the resistance fighters who styled themselves the Monson Alliance would look back upon their stubbornness and wonder why.

All over the mountains, knots of soldiers crawled, clad in green and grey camouflage uniforms, each wearing the white rose emblem of Laxam. The resistance fighters were guerrillas, directing hails of rocks and crossbow bolts from shadowed hiding places, and using their knowledge of the terrain against the more disciplined soldiers.

Even as Hason watched, he saw a boulder fall from a high crag, slamming into a knot of soldiers and scattering them widely. He wasn't concerned. It wasn't as if death was a possibility, and with the boy standing beside him, they couldn't lose.

"What do you think, Certos?" he asked, glancing at the vox. Certos was slender and small. In all the time Hason had known him, he had changed not at all. A collar, composed of chips of glass and etched with runes, adorned his neck. A gold chain ran from the collar, and Hason held the end of it.

He had held that end - figuratively, even if not always literally - for over two hundred years.

"Victory is assured, sir," Certos said softly. He raised a hand and pointed. "The soldiers will break through there, where that notch in the rocks gives them an easy route over the ridge. We will lose a few dozen, I think. No more. It will be difficult, since the fighters can attack from above, but they will get through with sufficient numbers."

Though death had been conquered by the medical Breakthrough over three hundred years before, war could still be devastating to a soldier. One could lose a limb, or be injured so badly that they could never recover. Hason had been told that one day medical science would advance to the point where even the most gravely injured could be revived. He paid it little thought.

There were no true sacrifices in war when everyone was effectively immortal.

"And after they capture that pass?" 

"We must gather as many soldiers as possible, and begin a systematic takeover of the lands beyond. Intelligence reports show nothing but small hamlets and farms. All of their defences are focused upon that ridge, and keeping us from getting through it," Certos said, his tone not varying in the slightest. He seemed scarcely to care one way or another who won this battle, but Hason knew that wasn't the case. Certos would ensure they won.

"When those defences fail, all that's left is the mop-up," Certos went on. "They will throw everything they have at us, but it will not be enough. We have more resources, more fire-power. In a month--" The boy suddenly stopped talking, his eyes seeming to turn inward to look at something only he could see. He remained silent for a full minute while Hason watched, perplexed.

"In a month?" The Grand General prompted finally.

Certos seemed almost to shake himself. He looked up at Hason, a wide grin splitting his face. "It'll be over. Soon."

Hason felt a chill run down his spine. He had never seen Certos act this way before. The expression on his face was... mad. inhumanly so.

"You mean the war?" he asked, his tone clipped.

The smile faded abruptly from Certos' face and he looked away, towards a knot of soldiers making their way up a narrow ridge to attack a vulnerable group of guerillas.

"In a month, or less, the war will be over. The Laxam Empire will control the world."

 _Is that all you meant?_ Still seeking his equilibrium, Hason reached out and petted the boy's hair, then rested his hand on his shoulder. "You have done our country such service over the years," he said. "What will you do when there is no more war?"

Certos actually _twitched_ , visibly and Hason relaxed. The creature's emotional reactions, rare as they were, were fascinating. Certos didn't answer for a moment, and when he spoke his tone was measured. "Whatever Prime Minister Niveus would have me do."

"As do we all," Hason agreed, smiling. Apparently the odd fit had passed. Certos seemed normal again.

The sounds of distant shouting and the cracking of rock attracted Hason's attention. He looked up and saw a large boulder roll from the seemingly vulnerable guerilla fighters. The soldiers were utterly devastated in the trap and the boulder then struck a large laser cannon below. It shifted, the rock of the cliff where it had been situated collapsing. Then a bomb went off underneath, obviously set by the enemy, and the cannon slid off the precipice.

"Voxae ma nema uto," Hason swore, his eyes fixed on the unfolding drama as the soldiers tried to save the cannon, or save themselves. The huge piece of machinery fell, and struck an outcropping. The voxmar inside ruptured and covox erupted in all directions, sending burning rubble up in a fountain, high into the air. Hason's eyes widened when he realized a burning ball was headed, through a freak, seemingly-impossible series of chances, right towards them.

"Sir," Certos said, looking up disinterestedly and watching the ball arc through the air. "I think you will die now. Goodbye."

"You did this!" Hason hissed, and turned to flee. He didn't get more than two steps before the impact and explosion knocked him off of his feet. He saw burning wreckage flying all around him and Certos standing motionless over him, untouched by the chaos. 

And then he knew nothing more.


End file.
